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A Voyager ensemble story Rated PG (as in Pretty Gross)
DEATH BECOMES HIM
Or "Chakotay Must Die"
By Annick
Just WHEN Chakotay had passed away was not exactly clear.
Janeway was dead certain <strike the word "dead" from the official log> that he had still been alive as recently as Monday. She had arrived a few moments early for the Alpha shift, to find her first officer already in his command chair, at his post as usual.
During routine reports, she had asked Commander Chakotay for the status of ship's personnel. And, she was pretty sure he had said "nominal." Although in hindsight, she wondered if he had actually said "terminal." Oh well, no telling now!
The worst of it was that she had sat next to him, day after day, and not even noticed! Sure, he was taciturn by nature. And he had, after all, spoken only a few lines during the whole past season. Some on the ship had taken to calling him derisive names behind his back--like Commander Potted Plant, Graham Chakkers, and Chak-off.
Captain Janeway felt a little guilty. Even SHE had long since given up making small talk to him. But hell, who had time for idle chatter with every Tom, Chak, and Harry on the bridge!
She had even turned the bridge over to him each day as she took to her Ready Room. He always sat there--strong, silent, authoritative--eyes forward, ever toward the stars. And *dead,* apparently.
Euuuwwww. Blech. And she had been sitting next to him the whole week!!! Not realizing that his rigid command posture was really rigor mortis!
The first offal hint that something was rotten in the state of Voyager's Denmark had come, let's see-if today was Friday, then it must have been, oh, about Wednesday.
Twas one of those subtle sense of the scents, really. The ship's environmental controls had never functioned quite properly since Tom Paris' moronic protonic mishap on the holodeck. The bridge was alternately too hot and too cold. And the air filters were not always working at their peak, aseptic best. A fructiferous jumble of foul fetidness sometimes wafted through the air ducts, in a condition technically referred to as "Stinky Ship."
Wednesday, things had markedly worsened. Janeway was cranky, and the bridge crew knew better than to make comments like, "Wheww, what DIED in here!"
But, that didn't stop them from reverting to puerile methods of displaying their disgust. Tuvok looked askance at Harry, who was standing close by, wrinkling up his hypersensitive Vulcan nose.
Harry took a short snort himself and was pretty sure that the Fly-Boy had let one fly.
B'Elanna, who knew Tom most intimately, narrowed her eyes at the hapless Paris as well, wishing she could smack the crap out of him with a b'atleth.
No one looked at Seven, encased as SHE was in layer after layer of rubber and latex, a geniune pervert's dream-come-true.
But Seven did look to the captain…as she always did.
Still. No one ventured an untoward remark.
Thursday, the ripe odor filling the bridge had gone beyond the "stink" stage. And Tuvok, the most sensitive among them, finally broached the putrid problem.
"Captain," he began "I don't mean to be nosy, but logic dictates that I point out that something in here has gotten ranker and ranker."
"It's not me!" cried out Tom Paris defensively. "I'm the lowest rank in here. And I can't go any lower!"
"No one is accusing you," said Janeway. "So, quit making such a big stink." She realized her faux pas as soon as she said it.
Harry Kim began to titter through the stench. Paris suddenly turned on his erstwhile friend and taunted, "At least my mother didn't name ME a big "Hairy Kim!"
Kim dissolved into tears at the old schoolyard taunt and began to sob. Which wasn't easy, considering he was holding his nose at the same time.
"Perhaps, Captain," began the always-suave Mr. Tuvok, " the Bolians are having lavatory problems again…" He flushed deeply at having to mention such an indelicate predicament.
With a cool head and practiced ease, Captain Janeway called for the doctor. She did not want to blame the Bolians immediately. As much as she secretly harbored species-hatred toward them, she knew better than to rile those few on board. Afterall, IF Voyager were ever to lose ALL means of propulsion, the Bolians were her last best hope for a source of cheap, plentiful methane gas!
"Well, this is a fine mess you have here, Captain Janeway," the holographic M.D. announced after surveying the situation. "Commander Chakotay sitting here stiff as a cigar-store Indian, and no one even noticing!" <delete the words "store" and "Indian" from the record>.
Janeway let out a small gasp. And to think she had reached out and touched him several times during the week! Bleah!
"But," continued the officious EMH, "I am afraid that we have more of a problem here than a simple corpus-delecti."
Janeway looked up at him, and through the handkerchief she had surreptitiously tied around her nose and mouth, mumbled, "Yeth?"
"It appears that rigor mortis has permanently cemented our beloved commander into a sitting position," the doc continued, coiling back from the mortal remains.
"Normally, we would just pop the bod into one of our tubelike 'Etern-a- Loungers' and space him out the airlock with a hearty 'Hi, Ho, Silver" <note, delete "Hi, Ho, Silver" from the record>, but I'm afraid that no way can we get a twisted sitting stiff like this into a narrow tube like that. . .though, I assure you, given the condition of Mr. Chakotay's command chair, IT should be spaced immediately!"
"And your suggestions, doctor?" came Janeway's muffled response.
"Well!" replied the doctor. "Just jettisoning him out into dark space, frozen forever into a Lazy-Z position, like some poor guy perpetually constipated, seems somehow totally unfitting, lacking in respect, if you see what I mean."
A wrenching sob emanated from the back of the bridge. All eyes turned to see B'Elanna, face down in her little airsick-bag, mourning Chakotay's aprupt (?) departure. At last, she pulled her face out of the sack and wailed, "There he goes! The last remains of the Maquis!" And she returned to whooping it up in the bag .
"Well!" sniffed the doctor. But not too deeply. "Someone must take charge here." And he touched his comm badge and asked Neelix to bring in a kitchen cart on wheels.
Neelix arrived to find several bridge crew, wearing latex gloves they had borrowed from Seven, angling Commander Chakotay out of his chair.
"Something he ate?" asked Neelix, suddenly fearing hostile recriminations.
"Certainly not!" hissed the holodoc. "Or we'd ALL look like this!" He won't fit on a stretcher in this position, so help us heft him onto the service cart, you little Talaxian weasel!"
Clearly, everyone was getting a mite testy.
Chakotay cleared out of the room, Janeway sank into her chair, and covered her eyes with her hand. Which gave her a kind of rakish "bandito" look, what with a bandana already over her mouth and nose.
"What AM I going to do now!" she garbled softly, over and over.
"May I have a word with you in the Ready Room, m'am?" Paris asked.
Dispirited (though not nearly so as Chakotay), Janeway followed her newest ensign into her RR.
Tom Paris, seizing the quiet intimacy of the moment, and hoping for some serious "mother-son" bonding stuff, approached his nearly lifeless superior (and it goes without saying that she was not quite as lifeless as Chakotay, however) and laid his hand on her chest.
Janeway looked at him suspiciously, over the top of her bandana.
"Do you trust me, Captain?" He asked.
Janeway felt a twinge in her pitching arm, and knew that in another second or two, she would wind-up and involuntarily space Paris if he so much as touched her again.
Still, something held her back for a moment. Then, the little rat pushed his advantage and put his OTHER hand on her chest, too. "Do you REALLY trust me?" he asked again.
"Oh, sure, sure," she mumbled. What did she have to lose.
She was just raising her fist when he abruptly stepped back. "I can fix this, Captain. Can give Chakotay the dignified send-off he deserves. If you can spare a small tractor beam and a large pot of super glue…"
"Just do it," sighed the nearly inanimate captain (though, not, obviously nearly as inanimate as…but you get the idea).
Later that day, a deeply moving memorial service was held for Commander Fred LeRoy Chakotay in a very chilly cargo bay. Inasmuch as the commander could not be crammed into a regulation Starfleet coffin-capsule, someone had thoughtfully propped him up on a folding chair, and placed a lovely bouquet of Skunk Cabbage in his clay-cold hands. The crew gathered a discreet and scents-ible distance away and said a few words in his honor.
Then, Paris, as promised, launched the loyal friend, first officer, former Maquis, and fine all-around good Indian <delete "good Indian" from the record> toward his final resting place.
That evening, an almost inert Janeway (please insert the requisite comparison with Commander Chakotay) stood before the huge view screen with the tiny knot of kindred bridge krew, looking out over the long forward nose of her Starship, the Fleet Vessel Voyager.
With great sadness and endless gratitude, she turned toward her "busted" ensign, Tom Paris, and clapped him on the back. Hard. Really hard. Nearly knocking all the wind out of him.
"Fine job, Ensign," she said di-stinct-ly, having of course removed her bandana now that the air had cleared.
Tom coughed, glad for the recognition, and greatful too that this particular "clap" wasn't nearly so painful as some of the others he had endured.
"I think Chakotay would have been pleased…" Paris ventured.
"Indeed," Janeway answered.
All eyes focused on the far end of Voyager's sleek nose. There…super- glued for all eternity… sat Commander Chakotay, like some really special hood ornament!
It was a touching moment for all.
As if in benison, Captain Kathryn M. Janeway spread her arms wide, symbolically encircling her crew and the stiff, perpetually seated way out on the end of the ship.
"And now, my little Starfleet family," she announced dramatically, our Angry Warrior has truly found Peace at last! And our intrepid explorer, Commander Chakotay, will ALWAYS be the first among us to go where no man has ever gone before!"